A GREAT WRONG.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10022, 19 April 1910, Page 2

A GREAT WRONG.

CHAPTER XX.—Continued. 'Arthur, iove, I do not understand you,' she answers serer.ely. A cry of agony breaks from the young man's lips. 'Why do you all stare at me and refuse to answer?' he asked excitedly. 'Where is/Isbbel? What have you done with her? And, mother, why was I hurried off to tne 'Kook's Nest' with that infernal little 1 weasel of a doctor?' For ihe first time her cheek flushes, and she looks n trifle disconcerted. But she takes his hand and seats him beside her. 'My dearest 1 boy,' she says, 'be calm and you shall know all. You were ml, very ill, Arthur and what was worse, you were delirious all the time. Indeed, your poor father and mystlf have almost despaired of your reason. You were violent, too, my poor boy, very violent: not one of us dare come near you, and it was so painful and mortifying with our friends coming,'you see;'; and Doctor Drayton insisted that you needed a change ; and so did the othir doctors, n.y dear; we, therefore, consented, and liad yuu removed to the 'Book's Nest.' Don't think you've been forsaken, however,' she adds, touching her lips to his cheek. 'Your father went down every day, and so did I and Edith; and thank Heaven, my dear son, -jou are almost entirely recovered. It was such a surprise, though, to see you back so suddenly. How did Doctor Drayton come to let you leave the 'Nest? - ' 'I didn't ask him,' answers Arthur. 'And now, mother, answer my question. Where is Ishbel?' Lady Mariowe lilts her aristocratic brows. 'lshbel, Arthur?' 'Good heavens, yes? Ishbel, my wife! You know I married her, and brought her here, and Edith took her up to the white and gold rooms, and—well, it all ends there, i must have gone mad, as you say.' She louks up into his eager, imploring face. 'My poor boy,' she murmurs, kissing him again, 'the dtliruui has noc all gone. This wife of jours is one of its delusions. Arthur, h>ve you know as well as I that >ou have no wife. You have not married vet. By and by you are to marry Biauca.' ! He grinds his teeth in agony. r 'Mother, it is you who are mad,' he cries. 'Do you tell me I have no wife? That I did not marry Ishbel?' 'Yes, Arthur, I tell you the truth. You have dreamed this..thing in your fever, and it haunts you like a re- \ ality. I must go with you to London, j and see what ihe doctors say—• —' ! 'Confound the doctors—l'll have rone of them. Where's Edith?' j His mother rings the bell. 'Ask Miss Marlowe to come here,' she says quietly to the servant. Miss Marlowe enters in tull evening dress, like her mother, utters a I cry of surprise at sight of her brother, and embraces him with great warmth. She has been trained in her part, and to her brother's repeated questions concerning his bride, replies that she knows nothing of Ishbel—cannot understand what he means. Arthur darts from the room, almost mad with rage. He rushes through the house like a madman; searches every room, questions every servant, but all to no purpose. He cannot find the fainteat trace or obtain the slightest clut to his lost bride. In his agony and desperation he even runs into the'baronet's room. 'Father,'he cries, his face white with suspense and pain,' I have disobeyed you; disown me if you will, but for the love of Heaven tell me what they have done with my wife! You, at least, are above deception. Father, speak to me, pity me. Where is the woman I maried?' Sir Hereford Marlowe, an we have said, is a man of iron, but in the nresence of his son's great agony, a ! faint thrill of pity stirs his breast. 'lf they had barkened to me, he thinks, 'they would have turned the vagabond and his beggarly wife out of the house. They had no right to come between them, but Lucia must have her way. Well, let her have it. I'll not meddle with the miserable affair. 'Father," entreats Arthur, 'won't you speak to me?'. The old peer turns upon him like a tiger. 'Yes, I'll speak to you,' hj« thunders. Go out of my room this instant! What do I know of you or your shameful entanglements. Go, sir, and instantly!' Arthur goes out of the house into the black, winter night. Only one single hope remains to him! Ishbel has gene home! He determines to follow htr withouc a minute's delay! She is not at Marlowe Hall, and, of course, she has gone to her childhood's home, believing herself forsaken. J In a fever of impatient love, he take 3 the train that same night, although his strength threatens every moment to fail him; and goes flying back to the Highlands. He reaches the valley of the Fel- . side, after a wearisome journey, and i

Or, The Mystery of Black Hollow Grange.

BY I.MA GAEEJ ON JONES. Author of "Foil and Power," "Strathrroro's Sin," Etc, etc.

toward the close ot a cheerless, winter day. There stands the familiar, old house, and there is Ishbel's window, the very window through which he stole her, in her bright weddingrobes', that stormy night. The tears fill his eves and his Meart heaves as he thinks of her—bis pretty, trusting littie bnde! But she will forgive him, and fly to his arms again, when she hears his story. He hurries across the moors, reaches the yard gate, lifts the latch and enters. There is a strange, depolate look about the wnilsom cheery old home.thut turns his heart to lead. What if Ishbe! should be ill, or dead? He gasps for breath in his torture, and stand 3 iiresolute, dreading to seek admittance. A shurp whistle cuts the keen air, and Tim conies up from the stable. He sees the young gentleman, and stands still in open-mouthed surprise. 'Here, my lad,' cries Arthur, 'a word witn you. How are all the people at the Fellside?' 'No people there, now, please sir!' Tim responds. Arthur's knees tremble, but he sets his teeth, and trees on: 'Oh, you're only joking. How is Squire Melville? He'B here, of course?' 'Squire's dead, sir, and buried.' "Great Heaven! The squire dead?' 'Yes, sir—dieu the same night Miss ishbel ran away.' continues Tim. The young man grasps the post to keep himself steady. 'And. Miss lshhel?" he says, in a shaking voice. 'She's back at home, isn't she?' Tim's round eyes grow wider than ever. 'Why, no, sir!' he cries. 'Miss Ishbel habn't come home agin. She run oil:' on her wedding'-night to marry a foine gent, as i think you would know, sir.' The white snow on the Highland peaks is hot whiter tha-A Arthur's face. He groans aloud in his terrible pain. 'Not come home?' he mutters, 'and I was so sure she was here. Where is Miss Maud? Can I see her?' 'La, no, sir. Miss Maud's gone off this week ago.' 'Gone where?' |'To Lunnon town, perhaps; leastways it mought he there, but I'm not sure, sir.' 'And who lives in this house?' 'No or.e, sir, but the foreman and his wife." Sick with jrrief and wonder, Arthur goes in and questions the foreman's wife; but she can tell him nothing save the bitter tidingß which Tim has already told. He takes his leave, with a feeling of keen remorse added to his heartache—a feeling of terrible guilt. What has he done in his insane passion and selfishness? Brought death and utter desolation to a home that was ao bright and happy. 'But I loved her,' he sobs out, as he crosses the wild moors; 'and if she is alive, I'll find her!' He hurries off to London, visits Mrs Hobbs, and makes inquiries in every place where he would be likely to find his missing bride, but his search is unavailing. 'Merciful Heaven!' he exclaims, as he aimlessly strolls the London streets like a man in a maze. Am I in a dream, or mad, as they tell me. Did I marry Ishbel or not? My prscious little wife? Will no one tell me where she is? I must find her! Heaven direct me which way to turn.'

CHAPTER XXI. THE SPECTRE OF THE HAUNTED MANOR. Poor little Ishbel. Maud, what can they have done with her? That young fellow Marlowe must know?' Maud shakes her head, quietly decided. 'No, Ambrose, I am Eure he does not, I met him by chance in London, and 1 believe the story he told me. He seemed to suffer terribly, and I never saw a man so. changed.' 'And you went to Marlowe Hall?' 'Yes, and forced myself into Lady Marlowe's presence; but she laughed in my face, and called me a lunatic. Her son had never married, she said.' The young Highlander's handsome eyes flashed as he stood in the green yard of the old Fellside home. 'I must take tne matter in hand myself,' he said. 'l'll go to London to-morrow, and I'll hunt young Marlowe up. If he knows aueht of Ishbel, I'll have it out of him. Poor little girl!' "You never ioved her, Ambrose?' 'No, I never loved her, Maud, but I'd have made her a tender husband if I had married her.' TO BK CONTINUED